


Who You Were (Who You'll Become)

by A_Kid_Named_Hiro



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series, Koisuru Series
Genre: Crossover, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 15:57:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11809311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Kid_Named_Hiro/pseuds/A_Kid_Named_Hiro





	Who You Were (Who You'll Become)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunflower1343](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower1343/gifts).



We were like them once. 

I remember it — the trouble we created and the danger we escaped, just 'cause we were dumb enough to get away with it. 

Like breaking into our middle school just 'cause we could. Running down the hallways, rearranging desks, scrawling stupid shit onto the chalkboards. 

Spending hours at the arcade, drowning ourselves in flashing lights and giddy excitement, trying to kill as many zombies as we could. 

Racing down the sidewalk smacking random strangers on the ass, howling with manic laughter. 

Sometimes, I remember shit like that in startling detail, like time slowed to catch its breath. Sometimes, I remember it in this whirlwind of _crazy;_ images blurred 'cause it feels like I'm rushing by, trying to catch up with the life that's leaving me behind.

Right now, we're seated here like jaded old men, watching the kids play in the surf. 

The sand is warm against my bare legs, against my palms. I sit here between the best friends I've ever known and would ever want, watching the boys — these younger, dumber versions of us — being idiots and being themselves, the way Kou, Takato, and I used to be. 

Mizuno throwing a clump of sand at Shouji as if it were a snowball, hitting him square in the chest. Shouji roaring in what I know is mock anger, tackling Mizuno and trying to drown him in the ocean. Hiyama attempting to cartwheel on the sand and failing because he's laughing too hard. Boys just being boys.

It makes me smile, these memories brought to life, in three kids who are as high on freedom as we once were. 

Somewhere between bills and taxes, between serious relationships and the passing of time, we may have lost ourselves. 

I think this sometimes, in somber moments when I find myself seated between my friends in a bar, staring at the bottom of a beer glass and wondering how we got here. 

To a _here_ that keeps us laden with responsibility and devoid of fun.

I hear Takato snort beside me. "You think _we're_ old? Imagine how _Asami_ feels."

Kou barks a laugh. It is weighted with wistfulness. 

I can't help but smile. I don't have to look at them to know that we're all thinking — and feeling — the same thing. 

"I miss it," I admit, even though I don't really have to because they've always _known._ "I miss the freedom. I miss this peace."

I look at the kids and think, _I wanna be like them again._

And maybe there's such a thing as second chances. Maybe we get a do-over. Maybe we get as many as we like.

Mizuno looks over at me and waves enthusiastically. "Takabatchi! Get your ass over here!"

I stand, brushing sand from my shorts. Then I grab Kou and Takato by the hand. 

And I pull them along with me. 

Into the ocean. Into time.


End file.
